


Sorry, Not Sorry

by Tyler_Blackwing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angry Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Apocalypse, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 19:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20318101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyler_Blackwing/pseuds/Tyler_Blackwing
Summary: After Armageddidn't, Crowley is just Done with a Capital D. Or rather, done with everything. Except Aziraphale, but he does need to blow off some steam first.(Takes place before the swap, rated T for language.)





	Sorry, Not Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing about the characters or the original story belongs to me, just this particular snippet of my fantasy.  
A short fic to blow off some steam because I was annoyed(TM) today and I needed something to VENT and some FLUFF so I hope you like it.  
(This was written and edited after midnight, I will not be held responsible for my sleep-deprived self. Sorry!)

Crowley had been on edge all the way back to London, after having left Tadfield and the Antichrist and the rest of all that Armageddidn't-bullshit behind. Yes, he was happy to have Aziraphale with him. To have saved the world. To have the angel finally – _finally_ – realize that they weren't pawns of their respective sides any more, hadn't actually been for quite a while. The way this stupid idiot had looked at him, realizing the Antichrist-child was actually a rather decent, very human kid, had made something in him tingle pleasantly, but that had quickly been replaced with the much less pleasant not-quite-tingle that was more of a painful pull downward, feeling like boiling sulfur sloshing around in his chest.  
He hadn't seen Lucifer for quite a while, hadn't quite expected him to be so bloody ugly and angry. Definitely not nice. And it felt like an old, unforgotten anger, resentment, longing. Heavens and Hell, how he did long.

The ride back to London was spent in silence, comfortable on the Angel's side, he supposed, but Crowley had been brooding  rather than enjoying  it, to be honest. 

So some time later, a very confused bus driver dropped them off in front of his building, and he went in, tossed his keys aside (sometimes he liked using them, they jingled so nicely, but today it reminded him of his blown-up Bentley and his anger sparked again) and kicked off his shoes.  
“Make yourself at home, Angel”, he mumbled in an admittedly poor attempt at hospitality. “Jus' gonna... y'know... water the plants. Kitchen's that way. I don't eat much, but there's food in the fridge.” That, at least, was a matter of honour – he did like the look of his exquisite kitchen, even though he didn't use it. The gourmet food never went bad in the not-even-running fridge, so at least he had something to offer. 

Aziraphale was kind enough to give him a minute, and when he sauntered towards his plants they went eerily still, not even a leaf rustling for a full ten seconds. He stared each of them down to find something to yell about, but they had no spots. Not this time. He watered them, yes, a little, sneered a small threat or two at them, but there was nothing to be particularly upset about. They started shaking nonetheless. 

“Don't you dare”, he whispered. “Don't you embarrass me. I won't have it. You losers are NOT going to wilt just because the World escaped certain destruction. You hear me?” 

He felt as if he was going to explode. His demonic energy was bubbling beneath his skin and it hurt, it burned, and when the Angel popped up behind him with an annoyingly chipper quip, he whipped around and glared at him. “Can you just NOT act as if all this was over?!”, he snapped, and for a second he was afraid to actually scare Aziraphale away after finally having him here, a tiny bit closer to himself than he'd ever allowed himself to be. “They're going to fucking END us, Angel! I can't believe – are you seriously having Graved Lax?”

“Why else would you be stocking my favourite dish if not for me to eat it?”  
Smooth fucker. Crowley snarled, this time not at his plants. “You actually wanna get yelled at?”

Aziraphale smiled, gently, such a lovable, soft smile that it pained him to look at it. “Crowley, dear. Whatever is the matter? Apart from the looming forces of Heaven and Hell, of course.”  
“Whatever else would be the bloody matter?!” He found himself getting defensive and tense, ready to pounce. 

“Well something does appear to be on your mind since the drive, given that our conversation was so nice before.” 

It didn't take a blink and Aziraphale found himself with his back to the wall, surrounded by luscious plants, all of them shaking vigorously. Crowley had pushed him, a bit, just starting to follow, and his glasses were gone this time. His eyes burned like hellfire.

Aziraphale still wasn't afraid. 

“Conversations with me aren't _nice_, Angel, remember that. Fuck those bastards, up there an' down below, this is not gonna end well, and I'm not ready for it!”  
“You don't have to be afraid-”  
“I'm fucking _angry_, that's what I am, Aziraphale!”, he hissed, getting closer still, but the heat in his stare mellowed at a soft hand squeezing his.  
Nu-uh, he didn't want to calm down. His grip on the angel's coat tightened and he pushed him again, almost more violent than before, but this idiot just kept looking at him knowingly. “I can't believe the nerve of you – going all 'holier than thou' and acting as if you were on the Good Side for days and weeks and years, all the while working with me. Not wanting to run away. Saving this bloody world instead, that doesn't give a fuck if we're here. And now what?! We're gonna die. We're gonna die, and we won't even have a decade of... I mean, it's finally out in the open, They know. _We_ know. You finally... I mean, I-”

Oh, why was he so utterly incapable of expressing basically anything sincere? It was frustrating. It made him even angrier. He almost shook Aziraphale against the wall and the plants were shaking and rustling and it was all just so much, while the angel just stared and squeezed his hand and seemed to actually _get it_. He couldn't even hear himself think. His head would explode if it'd go on like this, but he was very careful to not think about that, because then it might actually happen, the way his imagination worked. God, those plants were loud.  


“SHUT UP!”

The leaves went still again, and Aziraphale looked around.   
“Impressive. Fear of God?”  
“Fear of myself.”

“Wouldn't have had to go that far for beautiful houseplants.”

“Angel.”  
“Right.”

Their eyes met again, and Aziraphale rubbed his thumb over his bony knuckles. “Can you forgive me?”

“What.”  
“I'm asking, Crowley, if you are willing to forgive me for what I said. And for letting you go. And, well, it wasn't particularly my fault to get discorporated, but I did cause you sorrow, so I feel it would only be appropriate to ask you to...”

“I'm a demon, Angel, I'm not one to forgive.”  
“Not like you're not able to.” 

Crowley squirmed a bit. He was comfortable being angry. He was good at it. Did take quite a lot of energy to keep it up, but it didn't hold any surprises at least.  
“Fuck you and your apologies”, he growled, but much softer than he had planned. “I don't need that sorta thing. Nothing even happened! I...” He trailed off as Aziraphale caught his gaze again, pulling him into a very gentle, very careful hug. For a moment, his plants rustled gently, and Crowley felt the burning anger subside and make room for a gentle warmth. He glared at a few tiny buds starting to bloom right beside him, and hid his face. 

“Ngk.”

He practically heard the affectionate smile in his Angel's voice.

“There. Please, _do_ talk to me, Crowley.”  
“I thought I'd lost you.” His voice was so low, so soft. He didn't do soft. He was a demon! And yet he couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop himself from leaning just a little further toward Aziraphale, into the embrace, burying his face on his shoulder. “God, Satan, _Somebody_; I thought I'd lost you, and now I might lose you again. Those bastards are coming for us and you know it, yet you're so fucking calm.”

Fingers threaded through his hair and he couldn't believe how much at peace he felt in this moment, with imminent destruction looming over them. 

“Do you mean your bastards, or mine?” 

He almost chuckled. The nerve of this angel was incredible. 

“Both.”

“Well, to be fair, not that much difference between them now, anyway.”   
Crowley gave an exasperated sigh. “We're never gonna get rid of them.”  
“Maybe we don't quite have to.” 

He pulled back, just a bit, to look at this poor excuse of an angel. Really, Aziraphale wasn't a Good Angel, as far as Heaven's standards went. But that glimmer of a Bastard in his eyes, that almost wicked smile... He was the best of them all.

“I figured it out”, he said, but he was interrupted with a brush of their lips, and a happy hum floated between them.  
“You're an idiot.”, Crowley whispered. “How could somebody so stupid be so bloody clever?”

A smile brightened the angel's face. “... you forgive me?”

“Yeah, kinda already did.”


End file.
